


Sawmills

by theskywasblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Discovery, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-17
Updated: 2011-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-19 13:56:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/201614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've all made it out alive, which is new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sawmills

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "New Direction"

They arrive home bloody – which isn't really so awful, considering they're lucky to make it back home at all. As usual. The angel is the worst of them, he's literally slathered in the stuff, it's all caught up in his hair in shiny clots and dripping thick everywhere else; though Bobby figures they should all be glad it doesn't (much) belong to any of them. He and Dean are more or less glued together, wearing twin looks best described as grateful terror.

Once they stagger their way to the house – and someone who’s not Bobby is cleaning up the trail of bloody footprints the angel leaves everywhere – Dean shepherds him up the stairs without a word as Bobby mutters "Towels" and Sam says "Clothes" and they split off their separate ways like football players coming out of a huddle. They meet a few minutes later in front of the bathroom door at the top of the stairs. Sam's got some of Dean's older clothes in his arms, and he's abandoned his shirt, which was covered in something best left unidentified. Bobby's got a stack of clean towels under one arm and when he lifts a hand to knock on the door there's a sound over the roar of the running water that's two parts sob and one part moan, followed by a smack that's either the back of someone's head or the flat of someone's palm hitting the tile on the wall behind the tub.

Bobby looks at Sam, and Sam looks back at him, not exactly horrified, but more than a little shocked, with colour high in his cheeks and his mouth almost but not quite hanging unhinged. They both drop their armfuls at the base of the door and hightail it before they can hear too much more.

When they hit the bottom of the stairs, Sam says, "He never said anything. I wouldn't have..." and Bobby waves him off, knowing already what he means – that neither of them would have pushed Dean into anything else if they'd had any idea, that they would have maybe been more careful with the things they said when they all thought Cas was on the wrong side of the fence; but sometimes the forest is so damn big it’s just easier to focus on the trees while you’re working out which direction to go in.

"Time for a drink," Bobby announces, swinging into the kitchen with Sam loping eagerly behind him. This is the second time in two years that they've more or less saved the world, but unlike the time before, they've actually managed to save themselves along with it – everyone's got their soul (expiry dates unknown) in place and all their limbs and whatever else they need to make them more or less happy – which is pretty novel.

He pours a glass of his best bourbon for himself, one for Sam, and one each for the idjits upstairs, whenever they decide to appear again, and toasts, "Here's to new directions - I s'pose."

Sam makes a face that's more or less all embarrassment as up above their heads there's a slippery thump that's probably some idjit hitting the deck as he tries to get out of the shower, followed by a long roar of laughter and then another in almost-perfect harmony.

Bobby shrugs and knocks their glasses together, figuring that, sometimes, you just gotta go with it.

-End-


End file.
